


But There's Someone Who's Torn It Apart

by citizenjess (givehimonemore)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 12:58:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles finds a way to cope with the aftermath of Cuba; Erik finds out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But There's Someone Who's Torn It Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt #242, "Cut" over at the slashthedrabble LJ community. Title is from Sheryl Crow's "First Cut is the Deepest," natch.

He's gotten used to seeing Charles in the chair, though it's never without a pang of guilt. Still, their meetings are few and far between, often involving an altercation between their respective groups of mutants. On this occasion, however, they're both alone, Charles idling in the park that Magneto knows he retreats to when the mansion just seems a bit too full - he knows that this is something Charles did even when the house wasn't filled to capacity with baby mutants - and Magneto similarly in repose.

Charles seems to spot him from a mile away. He can feel the other man's eyes on him, drinking him in, and he's fairly certain it has little to do with the audacity of his clothing. He draws closer, cape swinging gently as he moves. "Hello, Charles," he greets eventually. "I could feel you watching me."

Charles' gaze flits pointedly to the helmet. "It's difficult not to when you're the only person in the vicinity that I can't read." He folds his hands neatly in his lap, which is covered with its usual, scratchy-looking blanket. He looks, as usual, serene, but there's something off. "How are you, Erik?"

"I might ask you the same thing." He frowns at Charles' face, at the expression that is just a bit too earnest, slightly too eager to please. Suddenly, he realizes what it is: "There's something different," he says slowly, and then his gaze travels downwards; if he's not imagining it, Charles' hands grip at one another a bit more tightly. "Charles," Magneto says, "There's something wrong with your legs."

Charles chuckles blithely. "Well, obviously," he replies, and now Erik can feel intimately how scattered the iron in Charles' blood is. He narrows his eyes suspiciously and Charles begins to look skittish. "I need to ... go," he mumbles, and that's when he realizes that he can no longer control the wheelchair with the buttons on the armrest. "Erik, please let go of my chair," he says politely, but Erik doesn't.

"Let me see your legs," Magneto says quietly. Charles sets his mouth in a flat line, but his knowing eyes betray his ability to play dumb. "I mean it, Charles."

"This isn't your business, Erik," Charles bites back evenly; 'not anymore,' he adds silently, and knows Erik will not hear him. When Erik still refuses to let him leave of his own accord, he glares upwards, eyes flashing. "Erik, I mean it."

"So do I," Erik replies heatedly. He crosses his arms. "I can feel the disarray in your bloodstream, Charles. I know you're hurt."

"I'm fine."

Suddenly, Erik's voice is quiet, hurt, even. "I'm many things, Charles," he says softly, "but I don't lie to you. Is that not a courtesy you can return?"

Charles shifts miserably in his seat, and then looks around cautiously. "Must we do this here?" he inquires, and Magneto shakes his head. "I've a van," Charles continues, and then he can feel the chair moving of its own accord under Magneto's steady hand.

"That'll work."

After a short walk, Magneto props Charles against a cushioned seat in the back of the van-in-question. He removes the blanket - it's as scratchy as it looks - and glances down at Charles' still legs, encased in tan trousers. He is careful as he tugs them down and off, but still Charles squirms, and once the pants are removed to Charles' ankles and his thighs bare, Magneto can see why.

The purpled bruising and lacerations look as though they've been done with something small, something Charles might keep in his study, hidden in plain sight in a drawer alongside writing utensils and spare paper. The latest marks have been bandaged, albeit somewhat carelessly, as if Charles doesn't seem to care about exposure to infection or how ghastly the mass of cuts look. Magneto runs his finger along a fresh wound, feeling the raised skin below. "Does that hurt?" he asks.

"No," Charles says flatly, and then: "I can't feel it. I don't feel anything down there anymore."

"So you hurt yourself," Magneto states with similar graveness. "So you can feel something." The dubious bent of his voice seems to strike a nerve.

"It's no longer your concern, Erik," Charles repeats, and there is heat behind his words. "It hasn't been since you left me like this." Erik flinches and he feels conflicted about that. "It doesn't affect you, Erik."

"It affects you," Erik returns swiftly. He spots a small box in the corner of the van's expansive trunk and floats it to himself, finding, as he suspected, first aid supplies inside. Still with the utmost of care, he begins to clean the cuts adorning Charles' legs, wiping each one thoroughly and then rubbing medication on them from a small tube. Charles' limbs are shiny and somewhat sticky when he's finished, and he remains kneeling in front of the other man for several minutes once he's completed his task, letting everything dry and air out. "If you endanger yourself, you endanger your students; everything you work for. You're better than that," Magneto argues, but his tone is much gentler now.

Charles smiles thinly. "I'm not sure I believe that," he says ruefully.

Magneto's expression is sadder, now. "You used to," he replies.

Charles nods and sighs. "Things have changed, Erik."

"Yes." The word is definitive, and their eyes meet. Then Magneto reaches out and grasps Charles' hand, enclosing it in both of his. "But you're still the better man, Charles."

"As are you, my friend," Charles says sincerely. Magneto squeezes his hand one last time and then, seemingly reluctantly, lets him go. The van door slides open of its own accord, and Erik's cape flaps gently with the entering breeze. "Erik, thank you. For caring," Charles tells him.

Magneto shakes his head, as though disbelieving the other man's gall; as though he believes that Erik could honestly ever stop caring about Charles Xavier. "Take care of yourself, Charles," he says with finality. "I mean it."

"I know," Charles replies, and he sits inside the van alone for several minutes after the door has slid shut anew and Erik has taken his leave.


End file.
